The Way of the Man

by Tom Mueller

What is is about the kids in our care
That gives men a reason to want to be near
They're loud and demanding and care not a wit
But to play and to horse and to give us a fit!

Yet something inside beckons me near
A deep feeling I love - and yet somehow I fear
It's emotion that draws me close to my boy
To wrestle and play to his giggles of joy

But it's deeper than that - this feeling that aches
That wrenches my heart when I see my mistakes
Mistakes of time lost or priorities taken
That took me away and left them forsaken

Or shortfalls more simple, like patience forgot
Commitments I made and then turned about
Or failing to honor the code of the man
To be honest and forthright - and lend up a hand

To be an example, a friend, and a teacher
To catch and to hit or to watch from a bleacher
The Master again to each father gives charter
To watch over them - and to grow from the barter

To grow is our challenge, while learning to live
We want to be taking, but know we must give
For how else can we grow these charges we're given?
To keep them alive - and headed for heaven?

Their mother, I think, is more easy with this
She just seems to know how important it is
I, too, understand it, but it's harder to say
Words that would show it day after day

The language that's spoken - it's not of the code
That keeps men in silence, even as they grow old
The women I know understand nothing of this!
The ways of the man seem lazy, remiss

Until he's engaged in a test of brute skill
Tumbling and wrestling till energy's nil
With children he found in front of the box
He pounced and he tickled then ran like a fox

The children pursued, their energy growing
Tearing around, finding balls, and then throwing
Them at their dear father who responds back in kind
Zinging the balls into legs, arms - behinds!

The energy lasts until Mom intervenes
Chastizing us all for creating such scenes!
Ball wars! Inside? Why where is your sense?
Tearing around and making a mess!

Eyebrows are raised, we know we are busted
As her voice echos on, rightly disgusted
We give Mom her due and make our amends
Clean up the floor, acknowledge our sins

Gently we place the balls back in their bins
Ready for when the next ball war begins...

October 2001
This poem was written when our kids were ages 5 and 9, very fun years.